Gonna Make Me Lonesome
by Simply Not
Summary: He's slow to realize. He's great at denial. He's bitter to admit. He laughs with acceptance. Dick-Centric. Dick/Wally. Kind of one-sided. Kind of not. Rated T for language.
1. Gonna Make Me Lonesome

Author's Note: rated T for language and, well, nothing else really. Just angst and one-sided feelings. Bummer

Disclaimer: don't own anything

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><p><span><strong>You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go<strong>

_You're gonna make me wonder what I'm doing,_

_Staying far behind without you._

_You're gonna make me wonder what I'm saying,_

_You're gonna make me give myself a good talking to._

_- Bob Dylan, You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go_

* * *

><p>When he realized it, he was kissing Poison Ivy.<p>

Or Poison Ivy was kissing him.

They were kissing each other?

At this point, he wasn't sure anymore.

After the initial lip-lock, it seemed to be a mutual thing, and lasted as long as Ivy wanted it to.

Except this time - this time Nightwing could tell that she was having trouble. Or an off day. Or maybe her lips (_pheromones?_) just weren't into him that day. He could never be sure when it came to meta-humans even though so many of his closest friends were. The point being, she wasn't able to fully grasp the mind of Richard John Grayson, known to her solely as Nightwing. He could feel it in the way her lips tensed more than usual, her slow movements becoming harder, brash. The hand on his face curled and her nails scratched him, to try to make him lose himself in her kiss. But she couldn't.

And it was all his fault.

Alfred had called him up at around two that afternoon, wondering if 'Master Dick' could come over for dinner that night. Of course Dick had kindly tried to refuse, maybe setting up a rain check, because calls like this were happening much too frequently for his liking. But it was Alfred and one was hard-pressed when it came to refusing Alfred.

Dick knew what the butler (_grandfather, doctor, eyes in the sky and so much more_) was trying to do. The first Robin had moved out just a few months ago, after figuring out that Red Hood was Jason and Tim took over the mantle of Robin. To say he had moved out at a particularly bad time was an understatement - said Tim. Dick couldn't have picked a better time though in his mind.

He had been moonlighting as Nightwing for a little over two years, traveling to Blüdhaven whenever Bruce could afford him to not be in Gotham. His adopted father was very encouraging with his upgrade to solo vigilante - not so much with his intended career choice. Since the ripe old age of fourteen, Dick knew he wanted to be greater than anything he's ever been, to help, to be needed, to save. So being the spoiled, playboy son of a spoiled, playboy billionaire was not something that particularly intrigued him. So he decided to put his amazing capabilities into a job that would allow him to help citizens and make sure nothing underhanded went afoot with the law.

A cop.

A detective.

A common hero.

Dick likened his choice of career with the word _honorable_.

Bruce liked the word _liability_. He liked the word _reckless_. He liked the words _unsafe, stupid, foolish_ - and let's not forget _endangering secret identities._

Dick liked to believe he was '_pulling a Clark Kent_'. Getting close to the situation so he was more than a few steps ahead of the game. And with his deductive reasoning that Batman had instilled in him since the, also, ripe old of age of nine, Dick could take down crime in Blüdhaven better than Bruce could do as Batman in Gotham. He'd be working both sides, able to mess around with the darker, less legal side of the city, while also having the pull and trust of the people Batman so often butted heads with.

This caused many arguments between himself and the man who was the closest thing he had to a father figure within the last decade. Arguments that lasted well into the night, long after patrol, and made breakfast very awkward. They wouldn't come to an understanding, but the older gentleman eventually learned to live with it. And while Bruce and him eventually parted on better terms than he thought could be possible despite that fact that neither could understand why the other _didn't understand_, Dick knew the man would be there for him if he ever needed him.

So the butler called him, every Tuesday like clockwork, to tell him that he was making Dick's favorite dinner - and blueberry pie. Pie. _Blueberry_ pie. Alfred knew him too well.

And Dick swallowed his pride, got on his bike, and rode over to Gotham to have an early dinner with his odd little family, because if they were to have dinner together it needed to always be early. Early dinner, late breakfast. Something they had all at one point had to change from the norm of early breakfast, late dinner.

Of course Dick would obviously go out on patrol because it was impossible to say no to Tim's face. That ever calm, ever loving, little brother face. And coming off the horrible high of realizing his first little brother was back from the dead and wanted nothing to do with his once adopted family, Dick was a little over-protective.

He wished he had a better resolve when it came to those closest to him.

That's where he found himself right now, wondering why he always let Alfred talk him into coming over, pondering Tim's ability to make him go on patrol in Gotham instead of the city he was beginning to grow fond of, a city to really call his own. Because not being able to properly stand up for himself brought him into circumstances like these.

Kissing a villain.

Who gains power over people by _kissing them_.

He is seriously going to have to organize his priorities.

But then it hits him - or, in this case, doesn't hit him.

That feeling of needing to please this psychotic, deranged woman. The want to follow her around like a puppy dog. That desire to give her anything she wanted.

He'll blame it on the resemblance, later, when he's out drinking and trying to convince himself that it was because of the resemblance, it had to be _her hair_ and _her eyes_ and because he hadn't seen anyone but his co-workers and family in the last two weeks. When he's moving onto his fifth shot, praying to god the commissioner didn't call him in, and hoping that his partner really would make sure he got home safe, he'll be able to convince himself for five seconds that it's not true.

That when Ivy kissed him, it wasn't Wally that he wanted to please, wasn't Wally that he wanted to do everything in his power to make happy, wasn't Wally that he wanted to be kissing.

He couldn't believe it, so he let himself think it was because he hadn't had sex in over three months and that's why he had moaned and leaned into the kiss.

Because he just. couldn't. believe. it.

It wasn't possible.

_Nope_.

No.

_Im_possible.

He wasn't in love with his best friend.

* * *

><p>When he denies it, he's watching them kiss.<p>

In his mind, he can't help but feel sorry for Wally. It's a shitty situation at an even shittier time. Wally and Artemis had just finished the long haul of finals, had finally graduated, able to become what they've wanted for the past five years. _Normal_. Dick had just finished his first year as a regular beat cop. In the next few months he should be moving up to junior (_he laughs at himself when he realizes how ironic and infuriating that is_) detective. Him and Wally had finally gotten past the 'you need to come back and be a superhero'/'I don't want to die and I need some form of normality in my life' spiel. The name is Tim's; Dick really needs to teach the kid better code-names. But he'll live with it because it's easier for him to swallow than 'lovers spat.'

It was about a month after Wally's and Artemis' graduation ceremony that Dick started to deny what he had learned almost a year ago. He had to deny it because it started to punch him in the gut with every visit to Palo Alto.

He wasn't in love with Wally.

But the distance was hard not to notice. He wondered why Roy hadn't mentioned anything, because he sure as hell saw the pair more than Dick managed to. But Roy wasn't a detective like Dick. His friend didn't go through years and years _and years_ of training from the most paranoid man on earth; Roy never had to deduce where the Joker could have stashed the bomb, if the people in that building were innocents or henchmen, didn't have to figure out what words that came out of that mouth were true or not - which ones would save a life and which ones would kill.

Roy never had to fight the fear gas of Scarecrow, never had to talk himself into believing that his parents weren't there, his mom and dad weren't inviting him into their open arms. He never had to figure out a way to cure himself in the three second gap from lucidity to insanity.

Roy never had to play Two-Faces games, never had to pick one persons life over the other and never had to realize _choosing wasn't an option_. He never had to save them both and still not get shot by one of Dick's worst nightmares.

So in hindsight, Dick could see why Roy wouldn't have told him. He wouldn't have noticed.

But Dick did.

He noticed the distance with which the pair sat. How Artemis had used to keep a knee or a hand or a shoulder free to touch him, to know he was there. How wally used to dart his eyes towards her every thirty seconds, his eyes gleaming just a bit more, his smile stretching in the easiest way possible. How they now kept an invisible wall between them. That Dick really did have all of Wally's undivided attention when talking, not bothering to turn when Artemis got up to go to bed or work or clean. His eyes never traced her movements like they had done in the past.

And Dick denied that fluttering in his chest.

He visits one night, and he hears the yelling from two floors down, thanking the heavens for the thick walls in his apartment complex and feeling sorry for the obviously thin walls at Wally's. And he notices how it's _Wally's_ building. Not _Artemis and Wally_, like it used to be. Somewhere he had already made the distinction and he was tracing his steps back, trying to figure out when, as he slowly climbed the stairs.

When he knocked on the door, because it was still light out and he didn't want anyone to see him sneaking in the window, it became silent. He thinks his last knock may have even echoed down the hall. Suddenly Wally had the door open, fake plastic smile in place and, "Dude! You're early."

"Not all of us can be late, Wally," he managed before he had time to really process (_not that he wanted to_) what the two had been arguing about. He can see the tense back of Artemis, almost calling out to her to be more discreet before he realizes she's been out of the game for some time so she probably couldn't even tell she'd been visible.

They were suppose to be going to the bar, get a few drinks in, mostly for Dick's sake since Wally can't get drunk easily. Tim and Babs had Blüdhaven covered, something Dick rarely allowed because it was his city, his town, his people - and suddenly Dick understood Bruce. Understood his possessiveness, his desire to protect and shield and _dammit it all_, he was turning into the damn man.

But Dick made time for Wally, despite not really wanting to at the moment, because this was his best friend. And his best friend was in need of some help whether he knew it or not.

So the black haired man smirked and watched - _cringed, frowned, damn-near sneered_ - when they kissed because right then and there he knew. This wasn't going to last. He gave it three weeks top. They didn't need each other anymore, no matter how much they loved each other, they've run their course.

And that's what keeps him denying it.

That's what he can't handle.

The fact that the couple he could see staying together through it all - isn't staying together through it all.

So he denies it with every fiber of his being.

Because he doesn't love Wally.

* * *

><p>When he admits to it, he's drunk.<p>

Drunker than he's even been. Dick has never made it a habit to drink - his necessity to stay up past normal hours and be alert at any time left little room to actually enjoy the tradition of drinks. Lately he's been finding himself doing it more and more.

On this particular occasion he's with Tim. Or, to be more precise, Tim found him in his apartment, blasting music and attempting to cook. Tim came just in time to put Dick's fire extinguisher to good use.

"Glad to know that works," the older man all but laughed. Tim poked the burnt lasagna, watching as it bubbled and let off more steam. After opening the window, he turned back towards his brother.

Dick had always been a very good cook - too good in his opinion, but Dick had had more time with Alfred than he did, so it's only natural that he picked up much more than Tim ever would. And looking at the smoking, foam covered food, he took it as a testament to how drunk Dick really was. If anything, Dick was a perfectionist. So him watching Tim poke his failed (_it's the third one, but Dick doesn't admit to that_) dinner and _shrugs_, Tim knows he's not making it back to Gotham.

After calling Bruce and most definitely lying to him about the situation, somehow telling Dick that, no the music really didn't need to be that loud, realizing that Bruce knew when Dick giggle-cackled (_another for the Dicktionary_), and trying to drag a plastered acrobat to the couch, Tim grudgingly took the offered shot. Because, while he was _Tim_ he was also a _teenager_.

And Tim knew that whatever could make Dick drink this much, he'd have to have a few in him to possibly handle it.

"Dude," Dick drawled. "I am so...so...so not _ebriated_."

Tim took another shot.

"Like, not ebriated at all..." Dick sounded as if he was rolling his tongue around the word. "_In_ebriated. _In_."

One more couldn't hurt.

"It should be outebriated. Because it's not _in_. It's _out_. So I'm not outebriated. I'm inebriated. God I'm glad in not _ebriated_."

Tim scoffed.

"How many have you had, bro?"

Dick had, at this point, rolled off the couch and onto the floor, watching as the ceiling seemed to move closer and farther away, trying to decide if one more shot would make it stop. He guessed it would so he grabbed the bottle from Tim.

"I live by the rule of one tequila, two tequila, three... But I think I made it to twelve. Or seven. What comes after nine?"

"You're the mathlete. _Nerd_."

"Don't be envious. You hafta...gotta to be _vious_."

"You sit on stake-outs thinking of words, don't you?"

"I sit on stake-outs thinking of Wally."

There it was. There was the reason for Dick's thirteenth (_eighth, tenth?_) shot. If Tim hadn't already taken two shots (_here went the third..._) he would have put those words together immediately. Instead he snorted and said, "Your relationship is weird."

He stopped taking his fourth shot halfway through, coughing as the tequila stung his nose and eyes.

Because know he did put the words together. Right as Dick decided to turn up the music, effectively cutting off Tim's choked, "Wait, what?"

And he stares hard at the man he calls a brother, the man who is taking another swig from the bottle and he really debates calling Lesley because Dick might actually get alcohol poisoning, stares at the man who is crying softly to the insane sounds of hard rock and Tim can't believe that he is not surprised by this.

He can see it, can see how this would happen because, _duh_. Wally has been with Dick since the man was a boy, since he was eleven. Dick trusted Wally like he trusted Bruce - with his life. And he would take a bullet, a punch, a kick, a _freaking alien ray gun _for the guy. And he can't believe how easy it is.

How easy it is that he can see Dick loving Wally.

He can see _Dick and Wally._

And then he can see that Dick _can't_.

Dick can't see _Dick and Wally._

All Dick sees is the bottom of the trash can as he throws up whatever he had for dinner that night.

* * *

><p>And when he finally accepts it, he laughs.<p>

Because what else was he supposed to do?

Artemis and Wally had broken up a few months ago, and Dick suddenly wished that he could go back to the time that he never saw Wally. Because that was easy. He could deny and ignore it to his hearts content, calling and texting the red head when it was convenient for his heart and mind. But _now_ - now Wally was everywhere.

He was over every Monday and Thursday, because he knew Dick took it easy on those days, that is if crime takes it easy. Dick goes out later, comes home earlier, likes to have dinner those nights. And Wally knows this, so he runs over to Dick's, all the way from Central where he's staying with Barry and Iris, to make sure that Dick remembers the amazing-ness of take-out Chinese. Because Dick's buying.

And Wally laughs and jokes and touches and smiles and is just goddamn Wally, _dammit_.

And what's Dick supposed to do - but laugh right back.

So he pushes it back, like he's been trained to since the age of nine, because Wally needs him right now. It's shoved back right along with his parents and his fights with Bruce, with the death of Jason and Jason being Red Hood, with his lost childhood and what he could have had. He could have been a Flying Grayson, a legend of legends, could have let the world know that Richard John Grayson can _fly_. Could have had Wally and his family and never known pain and anger and hate and bitter resentment at the world.

So he pushes it back.

But he'll catch himself thinking about it, from time to time.

Because, _honestly_, things like this just didn't happen.

Not to him.

He's smarter and better equipped for things like this.

So he pushes it back.

Pushes the fact that...

Dick _loves_ Wally.

_Dick_ loves Wally.

Dick loves _Wally_.

He does.

He loves his best friend.

And when Wally tells another one of his lame jokes, he laughs. Laughs through the pain. Laughs like he always has. Laughs because this is his best friend.

Laughs like it was the easiest thing in the world.

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><p>There's another part! I just have to write it...<p>

Thanks

Eva


	2. When You Go

Author's Note: I've written this five times and this is the best I could do. If I have better inspiration I may write an alternate chapter. But I'm 75% ok with this, so that's enough for me to post it. I feel like the ending is a but rushed, but whatever.

Disclaimer: as usual, the only thing I own is the food I'm eating right now. Lyrics and characters are property of their respective owners.

Summary: He's ready to begin. He's easy to accept. He's quick to fear. He kisses with admittance. Rated T for language (?). Wally/Dick slash. Yummy, angsty, one kiss goodness.

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><p><span><strong>You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go - Part Two<strong>

_I've seen love go by my door_

_It's never been this close before_

_Never been so easy or so slow_

_I've been shooting in the dark too long_

_When something's not right it's wrong_

_You're gonna make me lonesome when you go_

_- Bob Dylan, You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go_

* * *

><p><em>There was an accident.<em>

_The mission went wrong._

_Have you ever killed a man?_

* * *

><p>When it begins, it's with a present.<p>

Wally had been staring at the building for a solid fifteen minutes, not moving, which was a feat in itself. Speedsters don't stand still. Bart's updated uniform, set in camo mode, blended in well with the shadow of the forest behind him. His hyperactive mind threatened to reveal him when he had the urge to play with his suits settings. Instead he resorted to an old habit. Like he had used to do with the Kid Flash suit, he fingered the compartment on his forearm. Not because he was hungry.

He was nervous.

It had started eight months ago.

Dick had told him on a Thursday that he'd be gone for three months(ish), on an extended mission. Wally knew that meant undercover, something he hadn't been particularly pleased with, seeing as how those were the most dangerous. He had half a mind to tell Dick that he was an idiot and this was exactly why he had quit in the first place, because putting oneself in stupid situations such as these -

But that wasn't the point.

The point was Thursday.

Thursday, April 30th, 2020.

It was April thirtieth, the day before Dick's twenty-third birthday, when he told him.

"I'll be leaving soon and I'm counting on you. So that means no wild parties in my apartment, dude," Dick said, trying to get his friends attention.

"Well, there goes my weekend plans," Wally mumbled. He was too busy playing video games, only half listening to the man. Dick had gotten used to it though. Wally was over four nights a week, splitting his time between his best friends place and his own, back in Central. Dick would tell him again in a few hours, before he left to go work the night-shift at Blüdhaven's Police Department. His raven haired friend had been given a promotion to full-blown detective a few months back, something Wally had made sure that they celebrated with hard liquor and pizza, but the promotion came with a heavy work-load. Which, in turn, had caused Wally to make sure that Dick got the rest he needed, something that required _a lot _of favors for Tim and Babs so that they would patrol Dick's city.

It was also something that caused problems between him and Dick.

Wally wasn't trying to push him away from being a hero, but the red head couldn't deny that he always slept a little better knowing his rock, best friend, whatever, was safe and sound for at least a few hours of the day when Dick was just Dick. Not Detective Grayson or Nightwing.

"Seriously, Walls, I'm leaving the key with you -"

"If you can't trust me, why not give one to Tim - _dammit_, shoot, damn you. _Shoot_!"

Dick rolled his eyes at him. "Tim _already_ has a key to my place. He's over here enough that you should know that. But you're an idiot, so I guess I can understand your confusion."

"Dude!"

"As I was saying, no wild parties. I only need you to get my mail, make sure the landlord gets the rent, and that no one breaks in."

Throwing the controller behind him onto the couch after his character died, Wally turned to stare at Dick. "Man, your dad's Bruce Wayne. Like, a _gazillionaire_. Why do you insist on staying in this rinky-dink apartment?"

Dick scrunched his nose. "First off, my _legal guardian _is not a 'gazillionaire.' He's just a tad shy past billionaire." Wally snorted. "Secondly - I can take care of myself. I don't need to rely on Bruce. I can rely on me." Wally opened his mouth. "_And_, last but not least, water my plants while I'm away. I don't want to come home to a dead ficus."

Wally laughed.

That night, thirty minutes before Dick left for work and as he watched his human garbage disposal of a best friend devour his kitchen, he told him the list again of what needed to be taken care of in his absence.

Annoyed, Wally groaned through a mouthful of chicken. He wasn't surprised by Dick's answer when he asked what this supposed three month long mission was about. Dick just shoved more food onto his plate and smirked, "Hero stuff, dude. Stake outs on rooftops that lead to sleeping legs and swinging in to save the day, trying to get glass out of your hair later. Boring stuff. More tea?"

And Wally took it as that. Dick never really told him about the hero gig anymore anyway. Not since Wally had called it quits and ran off into the sunset to be with Artemis. Except now the sun had risen, Artemis was living with her mom and he was staying alone in Central or in Blüdhaven with Dick.

When Dick had actually left for work, Wally finishing off a tub of ice cream, the red head gathered his things, leaving a small box, wrapped in black paper with a blue ribbon on the counter before smiling and speeding off to central.

Apparently Nightwing had really meant it when he said he'd be leaving soon.

Returning to the apartment two days later, Wally was slightly surprised and hurt to find the present still sitting there.

* * *

><p>When he realizes it, it's as easy as smiling.<p>

It happened quicker than he thought it would.

Falling in love again.

It was a month into The Mission, and he was watching Tim and Conner spar in the teams latest hideout. They moved like he supposed how he and Dick used to move. M'gann had once pointed it out to him, how when the best friends had used to train together it was more like dancing than fighting. It hadn't always been a game between them, or a match, or to see who could one-up the other - though that happened very often. They didn't fight each other. They fought _with_ each other. They learned the other's secrets; to know when they moved, how they moved, why the moved. Wally later came to know that it was something that all bat brat's possessed, something they learned from their mentor. When they trusted someone completely, they let them in, left themselves open to be protected, a wordless statement that they'll accept another person's help.

It was the most trust you could get out of a Bat.

He liked to say it happened out of the blue. That he was struck by lighting (_hah, that's for you, Uncle B_), that Cupid popped out of the ceiling, rainbows and clouds and sparkly shit and shot him right through the heart. That he just suddenly felt it take over his skin, muscles, bones, neutrons, electrolytes, cells, down to his very soul, from his head to his toes.

He wanted it to be as cliché as possible, because he was Wally West. Cliché, he could work with. Cliché was what landed him all the ladies. He _was_ cliché, from top to bottom. It was his middle name.

But it wasn't sudden, not the way he had expected it to be.

As he watched Tim and Con, watched them in the mountain that didn't really hold any memories for him other than the fact that he was good friends with some of the people in it, the feeling was just there, like it was etched into his mainframe, down to his ribosomes, residing inside him like it had always been there.

It made him feel exposed, naked, vulnerable.

Like how Tim's staring made him feel recently.

Wally had been hanging out with Tim lately, since Dick had left. The younger male didn't seem too bothered by the red head, so Wally took that as a good sign. Occasionally, he would find Tim's blue eyes on him, aware of it besides the fact that he wore the glasses. It helped that he had been friends with Dick for so long.

Those times were unnerving, when he could tell he was being stared at by Tim, he felt as if he was on display, naked and open. He hadn't felt that way for a long time, not since a few months before he quit the hero gig. He remembered that he had once said he felt naked in civvies, vulnerable without his Kid Flash uniform, defenseless without being able to be one of the fastest people alive.

_Impotent_, is the word he had used when telling Dick how he felt, a night where they both relieved their fears of not knowing who they were, who they felt that they could be. Wally had always thought that he wouldn't be able to be anyone other than Wally West, Kid Flash, fastest kid alive, KF.

Dick had thrown that in his face when he had decided to quit, and when he looked back on it, he knew why. He had left his best friend, left him even though they had made that unspoken agreement when they found out that night what they were doing was bigger than they could ever fathom.

It had, in time, scared Wally, and he left.

Left Robin.

Left Nightwing.

Left Dick.

That's what this feeling felt like. Like he was being judged, being sized up, figuring out his worth, open for the world to see.

In a way, it was comforting and terrifying and sent shivers down his spine - this feeling.

Past the unease he felt the bubble of laughter in his stomach, the warmth of blood rushing under his skin, the stretch of a smile on his lips, the tingle in his hands, the vibrations of his DNA. It was just _there_.

He was in love with Dick Grayson, his best friend.

So he smiled, because, _duh._

* * *

><p>When he fears it, he's yelling and scared and trembling and clueless.<p>

_Dick always made it home_.

It was a thought that he had kept in his head for years. Being a superhero, you had to say thoughts like that to yourself. It helped keep you sane. It helped so that you didn't buckle under all the pressure. It was a coping mechanism.

It was a very dangerous coping mechanism.

Thoughts like this didn't help keep your guard up, it left you open to surprises and failure. Thinking that the bomb will always be shut down was problematic, because it's not always shut down. Thinking that you'll get the bad guys because you're the good guy doesn't work out, because life doesn't work out like that. Thinking that you'll be able to save everyone is soul-shattering, because _sometimes_ - sometimes you can't.

So the thought - _Dick always comes home -_ leaves a bad taste in his mouth when month three is done and suddenly they've moved on to month five.

Wally's relocated to Blüdhaven permanently, only going to Central for work, even then having half a mind to transfer. Dicks apartment seems to grow colder and darker every time he steps into the quiet place, the walls seeming to mock him with the silence.

He hears Tim's words in his head hourly,_ "It's just taking longer than expected."_ They ring in his ears, causing him to miss steps in the lab, to stop and stare a little too long at a shop window, to put a hold on his appetite like he wasn't a Flash, to make his heart clench. But he had to have faith in Tim's words, because that's all he had. Dick didn't leave him anything to communicate with, so _all he had_ was Tim.

But then Tim wasn't enough. And the boy knew it, could see it in the speedsters eyes that "it's just taking longer than expected," wasn't cutting it anymore.

When Tim started to avoid him, Wally finally lost it.

Because Bruce sure as hell wasn't saying anything, and the constant frown on his face when asked could mean anything from 'why the hell are you bugging me' to 'he's dead'.

Babs feigned innocence, or so he thought. Her brows furrowed when asked, and he couldn't help but think and hope that she was in the dark, that he wasn't alone in his worry.

Damien was a little shit and just insulted him constantly.

That left Tim.

So Wally pestered and prodded and poked and _jabbed and pleaded and yelled_.

This was Dick, his best friend, his partner in crime, _his person_, his everything.

And he wasn't back from his mission, wasn't where Wally could see him.

It scared the living hell out of him, and holding onto Red Robin's shoulders, trying to see past the white lenses of his mask, shaking the younger boy in ways that weren't safe for his neck, refusing to hear Conner's threats that, _if he didn't let go of the Wonder Boy his face was going to meet the pavement_, he's completely and utterly lost.

"Tim." Even his voice doesn't sound like he knows anything anymore. "Tim, please, I can't do this anymore. Just tell me, man. _What happened_? Where is he?!" He feels Conner's hand on his shoulder, squeezing and knows that if it wasn't for his speed-healing, it would be bruised for weeks. But he doesn't care, Wally hadn't seen Dick for five months, not since Dick told him that Thursday night, April thirtieth, 2020, a day before Dick's birthday, that he was going on an extended mission, one that would last three months(ish) and that he wouldn't be there to feed the human garbage disposal that was supposedly his best friend.

And Wally needed to tell Dick, needed to hold Dick, needed to _breath_ Dick.

And Tim takes off the mask, stares at the man who's gripping his shoulders and shaking him with his trembles, with enough ferocity to possibly kill him, the man who is scared and pleading and begging and yelling and confused and _oh so lost_. And Wally feels raw, naked, and he can see that Tim knows why he's like this, has looked through his eyes and into his soul and knows.

So Tim speaks.

"There was an accident."

Wally's grip tightens.

"The mission went wrong."

Wally holds his breath.

"Have you ever killed a man?"

_Have you ever killed a man?_

* * *

><p>When he admits it, he's getting punched in the face.<p>

Hard.

He had left his vigil by the woods and had raced across the lake in a matter of microseconds before setting off some kind of silent alarm, he could only presume, and he was getting punched in the face.

He repeats: _hard_.

_Have you ever killed a man?_

It takes another three months, but Tim eventually told him where Dick was.

He's with Jason. On some charming little island off the coast of the Caribbean.

Dick's with Jason, safe, alive, on some cheery little island, soaking up sun and alive.

_Have you ever killed a man?_

Dick had asked him that, a couple of years ago. The younger male knew the answer, it was impossible for something like that to stay secret between them.

Wally West had never killed a man.

And neither had Richard Grayson. For the most part.

Tim had told him the story.

Bruce had been Dick's handler, something to tether to man to his own reality as he went undercover as a villain; Talon he had called himself. It was something that they had been working on for years, something that had been going on longer than Wally, the team, anyone could have guessed. Tim had only been brought in for the last year, so his knowledge was limited, but he told Wally everything that he could.

Dick had completed the mission. Flawlessly. Perfectly. Superbly. This was Dick. Bad guys went to jail, insane bad guys went to Arkham, super bad guys went to Belle Reve. One man went to the hospital, in a coma, the outcome didn't look good.

On paper, Dick had completed the mission.

Off paper, in the acrobats eyes, he failed.

His name was Tommy Fink. He was a nine-to-five business man, had two daughters, a wife, three dogs, five fish and a cat. He lived in a four bedroom house, backyard, went to church, grilled on the weekends and took two family vacations a year. He looked nice in the picture Tim had shown him. Fink had been pressured by his boss into letting the gang use his work building as storage, so-to-speak. He never touch the drugs, never handled the weapons, never sold anything - he just left the back door unlocked, praying to god that he got home to his family in one piece.

When things started going south for the perps, they narrowed in on Fink, someone who was always hesitant about helping out and outside their circle of trust. They sent Talon and two other thugs to '_interrogate_' him.

Talon made a mistake.

Talon hit his head a little too hard.

Talon couldn't alert Batman fast enough.

Talon had had to laugh through his worry and pain and failure.

Talon was successful.

Dick had to live with that success.

_Have you ever killed a man?_

It took three weeks after the mission for Bruce to locate his son, and only then it was because Jason had called, said to stay away, _I've got this. Golden Boy is safe with me. Just have Baby B send over some clothes. The Demon Spawn isn't allowed._

He supposed he should have called first, thinking back on it.

Jason stands over him, seething and smiling and it's a look Wally hasn't seen for a long time, he's been out of the game for so long.

"What part of 'stay away' does Bruce and Baby B find confusing?" Wally, shocked over the first punch, doesn't think to dodge the second.

Good thing is, he doesn't have to.

"Jay, I know babysitting me for Bruce can get boring, but there's no need to violently assault my friend."

Wally's heart drops as he glances over Jason's shoulder and sees the man that he's been looking for, the man who is ingrained into his skin and brain, the man who looks just as lost as he feels and suddenly he's phasing through Jason's clenched fist and is grasping Dick's face in his hands.

The blue eyes, uncharacteristically visible, were glowing, on edge, and hurting. But there was a shine, something that Wally hoped was from seeing him. His gloved hands held on tight, fingers smoothing out invisible lines on the mans face as he listened to Jason grumble about secret hideouts and fruity men.

Dicks lips twitched. "Shut it, Jay, or I'll tell Superboy exactly who you've been crushing on." Jason stalks off as Wally laughs, louder than he meant to and watches as Dick's own laughter escapes, not quite his patented cackle, but seemingly just as easy and natural.

The red head smiles, and holds on tighter to Dick's face when he tries to move away. Dick stares up at him, guarded and questioning.

"You probably already know it, but _god_, you're such a brat," Wally breathes across his face. Dick is looking flustered and worried and confused and hopeful and Wally can't help but bop him on his forehead with his own. "I love you, dude."

And he kisses him like it's the easiest thing in the world.

* * *

><p>Well then... Ok. I threw in Talon because I'm working on a story for it. It will be a long time coming before THAT gets to see the light of day. Thanks for reading!<p>

Eva


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